


Mausoleum

by the-canary (siruru)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Developing Friendships, F/M, Friendship, Light Angst, Museums, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Reader-Insert, Road Trips, Social Anxiety, Soul-Searching, Strangers, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siruru/pseuds/the-canary
Summary: Well, this was certainly one way to go about a museum date with your historical crush.





	1. the details.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @jaamesbbarnes and our dire needs of museum dates. the first chapter sounds a little angry, but trust me – it will get softer as we move forward.

Early on in life, you grew a deep appreciation for the things that came into your life -- spare change, loving friends, a stable lifestyle-- simply because you didn’t when it could be taken away. Your parents had passed away at a young age, your inheritance lost between the fighting of greedy relatives and debts until you were alone in orphanage were none seemed to care. You struggled for a long time, the man in front of you knew that too well from your time in Air Force together. He had made life a living hell at times, but you could appreciate that now, if only a little.

Though you should have known it was him with the sudden tight security and black cars outside, Everett Ross had a tendency of being too flashy for his own good sometimes.

“It’s not a good thing when I have to see your face first thing in the morning, Ross,” you state as you take out the keys to your office, while the shorter man frowns. You shake your head before opening the door to the small office resting on top of the Museum of the City of New York, where you consulted twice a week.

“I could say the same thing as well,” Ross in his grey suit takes a seat across your small desk, folder in hand as you take a seat on the windowsill overlooking Central Park, “But, I need someone with your set of skills.”

“Please don’t go all Liam Neeson on me, Rett,” you laugh, while taking a drink of your coffee as he frowns at the sound of the old nickname. It scratches the back of his skin like the burn scars on your back do from time to time, “What do you and the US government need of me now?”

“Something you might be very interested in,” Everett gives you that sly smile, like he has something up his sleeve, as he hands you the folder he has been holding.

You grab it and place your drink down before scanning over its contents. The first thing that catches your eye is the incident from a few months back in Washington D.C -- the fall of the Triskelion and the complete destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. However, what really draws your attention is a few pages ahead, near the end of the documents, is the grainy CCTV picture of a long-haired individual wearing a baseball cap and homely clothing in what appears to be Scotland. Your mouth hangs open, as your widening eyes look up to see Ross smirking.

“You want me to find the _fucking_ Winter Soldier,” you exclaim harshly as you throw the file onto your desk. He makes no movement at your sudden change in attitude, “I know we aren’t the best of friends, Everett. But, I like living -- haven’t had _those type of thoughts_ in a while.”

“Would you let me explain first,” the man tries to calm you down, as you take a shaky drink of your coffee. You sweep a hand of your hair in frustration, “We are simply looking for him -- no extraction, no contact. You’re best for looking in a needle in haystack, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t _fucking_ use rank with me, Ross. It ain’t the Air Force,” you breathe out harshly as he sighs at your irritable change, “[This isn’t Bosnia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NATO_intervention_in_Bosnia_and_Herzegovina).”

There’s a thick silence between the two of you for a few minutes, before the older man gets up tapping the folder once. You don’t look at him anymore, preferring to glance at the morning sun making its way through the grassy knoll of Central Park -- people enjoying their day with a coffee or a run, doing the little things that make you appreciate life a little bit more.   

“This is my last ask of you. No killing, no contact -- we just want a stable eye on him,” Ross explains, all emotion he came with left at the mention of his (and by extension yours) final failed mission, “You’ve got all the military, psychological, and even historical background for it. I know you can do this.”

“And if he finds me,” you remark, clearly unsure of what a 70-year former HYDRA assassin could do to you, if he ever caught you keeping an eye out for him in the name of the US government. There were still hundreds of mysteries and theories of what the Winter Soldier had done in his decades long run, D.C was just the tip of the iceberg.

“Then, this really does turn in Bosnia,” Ross answers before getting up and leaving, the door echoing in his wake. You know that in that single statement, anything that happens to you will be wiped clean and ignored, but you were already used to that from a man like Everett. You sigh and dump your empty cup into the trash before noticing the familiar unmarked airplane ticket staring back at you for a flight to London in 4 days’ time.

“Damn sneaky bastard,” you can’t help but laugh in anger and a mix of other emotions before settling down on leather chair and throwing the file into your bottom drawer, though it didn’t leave your thoughts for the rest of the day. Your current project for the museum, one the few things you had clung onto your entire life, doesn’t exactly help with all that either.     

_CAPTAIN AMERICA: NEW YORK’S NATIVE SON._


	2. substance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the best chapter but damn that royal museum.

_ To: Sam Wilson _

_ From: Email Undisclosed _

_ By the time, you read this I might already be somewhere else, but my dear old uncle is having me join a friend of his on his backpacking trip through Europe. He seems to be moving into a certain country, probably wishing to get lost in the wonders of Central Europe. _

_ You know how he can be at times. I’ll try to be in touch soon. _

* * *

 

From the moment you see the plane ticket, you knew this wasn’t going to end well in some way for you. Ross knew you too well to realize what you might think of the whole Captain America incident and about the Winter Soldier by extension. The two of you had seen the horrors of war together and had come out different people -- Ross had wanted changed done through laws and policies, even if it was through force. You wanted to make sure people never forgot the horrors mankind could accomplish, like the burns on your back. The Winter Soldier,  _ no Bucky Barnes _ , had possibly seen the worst and you thought that he deserved some type of peace, which put you in direct conflict on this mission with Ross and the US government.

_ “You have a weak heart.”  _

A young Tech Sergeant had yelled that to a Airman rookie when she had decided to join the Air Force and kept yelling it at her until a certain mission where she was honorably discharged, but you and Ross certainly weren’t those people anymore. You were sure he was watching you in some type of way, but when he sent you all the information they had on a certain person traveling through Europe -- you did what you thought was for the best. 

You indirectly sent the information to Captain America. 

Two days later you were in London, certainly not a place where an fugitive would be, but it was a good starting point for you. You choose to stay in a cheap motel thanks to the limited cash fund you had been given, taking up the story of being a wanderlust American who was backpacking through Europe with very minimal clothing and supplies, though you still carried a Glock and knives on your body as safety precautions.    

With everything he had given you, Ross had no immediate way of contacting you unless he tried really hard, though he usually kept his distance until you called in with the job done. On the dirty and marked-up wall, you had a large map of Europe with pen markings and pictures of what could be James Barnes. From Morocco up to Portugal and into Spain, then they had lost time for some time until he popped up on Scotland recently. The notes left for you noted that he was avoiding Germany and Austria, deep down you didn’t blame him. 

That’s when you notice it. 

“Ah,” you gasp softly circling in bright red the country he seems to be moving around. 

_ France. _

* * *

 

You scratch the upper part of your back in annoyance, sometimes the scars bothered you when you were having bad days or like those old wives’ tales of superstition that something bad was going to come your way. Moving from London to Dover to catch a boat had been annoying and loud, it had given you a fitful sleep, but an alert that he was moving dragged your out of bed in the middle of the night. He was going to France, but more likely using a long way before hitting his destination. You groan in pain and potential seasickness at the rocking of the boat. The sea had never been your friend, especially since you were more of a bird at heart, and that’s what you look at it to calm you down. 

You lean onto the wall that connects the stairs of the bottom part of the ship to the deck and just stare at the dark sky for a good long moment. The night sky is breaking for the pinks and reds of the early morning light and taking a deep breath of the sea air, the void in your chest aches deeply --just like your scars-- at the thought of being up in the air again. You close your eyes for a moment.

You miss it. You miss a lot of things. 

“Are you all right?” a deep, raspy voice --like it hadn’t been used in a very long time-- asks from beside you. You shake your head at this stranger’s compassion.

“Just a little seasick, but thank you,” you explain, a plea at the end that you want to be alone and the man, you sum up from his voice, lets out a simple hum of acknowledgement before going downstairs in the lightest of footsteps.

Footsteps that only a well-trained ear could pick up. Your heart speeds up for a moment, but you don’t look back because you know it will just give you away.

You think you’ve just had your first encounter with Bucky Barnes.

* * *

 

It’s a boat then a train then a couple of buses into Belgium, but you’re right about one thing -- he was circling around France and it made you wonder why. It had been of great concern back in World War II yes, but the former Sgt. Barnes had never been stationed in France, he passed his time during the war in Italy and Africa. You knew that much.

While, you had lost him here and there throughout the trip, you sort of figured out where he was heading -- Antwerp, for another unknown reason though it was safe to assume for precaution against people like you and there would be slightly less detection than in Brussels, but more than enough people to avoid a public attack from HYDRA.

The scars on your right shoulder burn at the thought, but instead of dwelling on it you move forward finding a moderately priced hotel near the waterfront, close to the edge of the more modern side of Antwerp. You almost want to take in all the sites since the last time you were here it had been all for business and between not exactly knowing where Bucky Barnes is within the city and wanting to go to a museum, a place that is always like home to you, in your foolishness you decide to do so.

* * *

 

Your day is spent waking up closer to noon than you would like because your back hurts due to the stiff bed you are currently sleeping on and some dreams you would rather not think of. After making your way to the Royal Museum of Fine Arts, you spend lunch time in a Thai place not too far away. Your bones are weary and tired as you walk around the large building, getting lost in all it has to offer and looking at art that has been on this Earth a lot longer than you. 

You spend the time away looking at some painting more than others, but you know there is one that just echoes your --at least the person you are tracking-- current situation. You turn the corner in the unusually empty hall, parts of the museum were going through partial renovation, and that’s when your phone pings. You stop in confusion, ready to see what was sent from those cameras but it isn’t needed when you realize who the one person standing in front of the Frances Floris’  [ _ The Fall of the Rebel Angels _ ](https://www.kmska.be/en/collectie/highlights/Val_opstandige_engelen.html) . 

Dirty baseball cap. Dark jean jacket with a backpack. The man was built like a brick house and it was a little daunting, though you weren’t here to fight. Hell, you weren’t even here for him right now. You keep walking without looking at your phone and with nothing else in mind -- you stand behind him looking at the Belgium painting.     

_ The Fall of the Rebel Angels  _ was a painting that still undaunted you when you thought of it. It was clearly a fight of good and evil, as Michael and his guild of angels threw the seven-headed dragon, along with its league, into the ground. However, sometimes good people did bad things, even when they were never aware of the underlying consequences. Sometimes, bad people had acts of kindness underneath their lists of actions, and people were always changing depending on the circumstance. Morality was a very annoying subject, if you thought about it too much. 

Your phone pings again, as a not-so familiar face turns around to look at you.

“You’ve been following me,” he states in completely certainly, though his voice gives out somewhat in the end, probably due to the lack of use. You stand there before putting your hands up in utter defeat, there was no way you were going to fight him, not in a million years. 

“Did you know since the boat?” you question as his whole body turns and for a moment, your teenage self wants to scream at the sight of Bucky Barnes in front of one of your favorite paintings. It is truly a sight to behold, if it wasn’t due to circumstance.

“No,” is all he states, “Any weapons?”

You motion slowly towards your back and to your boot, blue eyes watch you like a hawk as he makes his way towards your back. However, before he can to anything, a tour group comes in. He quickly places his arms around your waist and drags you towards the nearest exit, as only silence is exchanged between the two of you. He removes your gun with his gloved hand before dragging you into a more populated area of the square.

You don’t know what’s going to happen to you, but maybe going down after seeing Bucky Barnes with such a sorrowful expression --like those fallen angels-- wouldn’t be so bad for the ending of your miserable existence.


	3. derailed.

Everett Ross is a smart man and while once he would have fallen under all the pressure placed on him by his superiors and all who looked to him for the next step, he didn’t do so now -- years of experience in both war and diplomacy have cooled him down. But underneath the veneer of civility, Ross is still a man that trust his instinct most of the all, that gut that has saved him a million times before even if he might play it off as something else. However, like any normal person, Everett Ross has flaws as well.

A certain soft, in the name of friendship and their shared past, towards a former lieutenant is one of them. Ross knows that it was stupid and downright dangerous to send a semi-suicidal person and a potential suicide mission, but he knew you. During your time in the Air Force, you read up on any book you could find on the Howling Commandos, specially Bucky Barnes -- you carried them around like a safety net and when your time was up, you used your resources to get degree after degree in American Military History with a honed focus on WWII.

The two of you were slowly becoming leading experts in your respective fields, but while Ross had overcome in his own ways the horrors of the Gulf and other missions (certainly a lie on some days), you hadn’t. The scars still burned and you had dropped out of your programs and jobs more than once because of the nightmares they caused, but that didn’t stop you -- the museum in New York being the latest gig and Everett wanted to believe that.

But, this was also an opportunity that he couldn’t miss, especially with the Winter Soldier, and you were his ace in the hole. However, as he watches the little red symbol showing him your location in Europe flash and disappear on the screen all of a sudden, he can’t help but let out a frustrated groan -- unsure of what happens next.   

He just hopes, so unlike him, that he hasn’t killed you a second time.

* * *

 

It’s simple questions, he never talks more than necessary.  _ Who are you? Who are you working for? What are the exacts details of your mission? _

A long time ago, you would have fought tooth and nail to not give the answers to those questions, you would die before they knew what rattled in your head. However, now all that your head safeguarded was nightmares and regrets and you gladly hand them over to Bucky Barnes with those dark blue eyes and guarded expression. A haunted version of himself that you had idealized back as a teen, but after the Winter Soldier incident and looking at him now, he reminded you of Monty Clift after the car crash, barely hanging in there. He keeps asking, and you keep answering everything with completely honestly -- Ross would surely hate you.

“Air Force? What position?” his voice is rusty and breaks near the end once more, as he takes a bite out of his sandwich.  _ Look normal _ , like a wandering and dirty American couple simply playing tourists and snuggling in to each other while eating.   

“Yes, first lieutenant,” you smile bitterly behind your tea cup. Your eyes flicker between looking at his gloved hands and the dirty brown hair hiding his face, so completely different from the pictures and engravings that you had seen over the years. It’s shattering to see your idol like this, but at the same time you can’t blame him.

“How long?” he questions, glancing around the cafe to see who might be watching the two of you and memorizing all the exits for the 4th time, it eases him just a little to know he could escape at a moment’s notice.

“A couple of months,” you answer, as Bucky takes mental note of where he could have gone wrong that he could have been tracked down, knowing that he won’t make the same mistakes again -- not like this was any better though, “Since Scotland.”

“And you?”

“Search, nothing more than that,” you shrug, rolling your shoulder back in momentary pain, “Though, I was honestly expecting a fight.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” he says so softly that your heart breaks, as he wringes his two gloved hands together.

“I see that now, and I am sorry for expecting the worst,” you lament, as blue eyes widen by only a fraction at your declaration, making him wonder how long it had been since he had heard such words, wondering how they could be given so easily, and whether he even deserved them. However, in a quick second, he shakes all those thoughts away.

“ _ Go home _ ,” is all he says, as he begins to get up. Putting some change together to leave on the table before hanging his backpack on his shoulders once more.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” you manage to answer back, before blue eyes turn to look at you, resolute in getting his words across, in having a say in what happens in his own life after so many years of being the first of HYDRA against his will.

“ **Don’t follow me** ,” is all he says before disappearing through the crowd, as you frown.

Bucky Barnes knows that you are connected some powerful people, maybe not HYDRA but someone else looking to bring him in and he knows the moment that something happened to you -- they were going to come after him first. And while blue eyes linger at the person he has actually had a long conversation with in more than 70 years, self-preservation got the better of him as he disappeared into the Belgium streets.  

* * *

 

You’re short on time, knowing that with his location known, Bucky Barnes would mostly like be out of Antwerp by the end of the day, if not the hour so instead of going back to your shady hotel room -- you move forward. You decide to go into the shopping district, trying to best to get some travel gear and a decent set of clothes. Your phone has stop pinging, no sign of Bucky, but with your limited knowledge of where he is going and how to get into said country, you head to the closest train station. You know that this is stupid idea, that you are essentially running from a mission given to you by Ross (but not really) in order to follow an former assassin that could have you (but wouldn’t) disappear without a trace. This is all so ridiculous, but taking a deep breath and heading towards the ticket station and getting on the one that moved through the Belgium-France border.

“It leaves in a few minutes,” the station attendant manages to tell you and you’re off, running to catch an unsure train that might or might not be carrying Bucky Barnes to his next destination. There are too many uncertainties right now that a past version of yourself would be angered by the lack of control in your hands, but for now...you were okay with that, and that was saying a lot.

You sat down near the back,  as you tried to stay calm for the moment but you couldn’t stop the rush of adrenaline at the flash of blue a few seats away, though you weren’t going to get up just because of one little incident. You were going to be on the train for a few hours, so you could scope everything out later. Fpr now, you took a deep breathe and settled in.   

“Rett’s gonna freak out,” you giggle a bit, before cuddling your new backpack closer and watching as the train slowly starts to makes its way out of the station.

You were alive and you were going to be fine (maybe), even if that mean playing Ishmael for awhile.

 

 


	4. the lack of.

He finds her on the 2nd bus to get into France, sleeping on one of the back seats with her own back against the window while holding her bag tightly. If he hadn’t been any quieter, Bucky is sure that she would have woken up by now, the bags underneath her eyes indicating that she might have just as much trouble sleeping as he did, though probably for different reasons. He takes the seat in front of hers and besides the murmuring of certain people, nobody seems to bother the two strange tourists sitting in the back. Bucky keeps guard, watching everyone’s movements once and three times over as he watches her from the corner of his eyes. However, what catches him off guard is the sudden movement of the bus that rattles the back and causes her to hiss in pain, as she stirs awake only to grab her right shoulder in pain.

“I left the Ibuprofen back in the hotel,” she murmurs to herself, as she hangs low until he can’t see her body anymore since it’s so close to the floor. He can hear her heavy breathes, as she struggles through the pain. She sits straits once more after a few minutes, eyes a little red as she rolls her right shoulder. 

Bucky doesn’t know why he does it (maybe, because he can’t stand seeing people in pain anymore after so many years of causing it himself), as sits down next to her. Her eyes widen for a moment, as she gives him a long fought smile.

“Are you alright?” he questions softly. His voice a little stronger compared to the last time they had talked, as she nods. 

“Old war scars,” she explains and in that moment Bucky knows exactly where she might be coming from in terms of that pain. However, that doesn’t stop him from being a bit skeptical at the comment, “They just never healed right, ya know?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky responds -- he knows too well.

* * *

 

The bus leaves you on the outskirts of the city of Lille, or rather there is were Bucky decides to get off with you trailing slowly behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you get off, but you feel his eyes watching you from the back, since he wouldn’t let you walk behind him. The pain from earlier has caused you to numb out here and there, through your walk as you look at the gray sky above, hoping it will go away soon -- leaving the States had only made you realize that you grown dependent on all the medicine that the VA doctors gave you to stop the pain, since at this point you were only carrying your backpack with your left arm. The sidewalks are sort of empty in the the late afternoon light, as you look around -- familiar instincts kicking in, as you almost miss him asking.

“Where did you get your scars?” you turn to look at Bucky for a moment, his face is completely blank but his blue eyes are shimmering with something else. 

You take a deep breathe, not enjoying looking back in the past but knowing that you have to be completely honest with him, if you want to keep moving forward with him. You had done that back on the bus by showing him everything in your new backpack and showing him that you didn’t have the phone that was following his coordinates anymore. You were making a lot of errors and mistakes, but you compromised that it would be better to stay by his side more than anything else, though you were unsure why besides knowing the Bucky Barnes that once was. 

“Bosnia. I got them in a chemical attack,” you pause and crack your fingers, remembering Ross’ screams and then the searing pain, “Protecting a comrade of mine.”  

“Was he worth it?” Bucky asks, staring at you like he is trying to find the meaning to something else. You bite your bottom lip at the question:  _ Was Everett Ross worth it?  _

The pain, the struggle, the self-loathing that came with looking at the mirror everyday. However, it also meant his unsteady friendship, being the only one that still talked to you for whatever reason.

“Some days he is,” you reply with a shrug but a soft smile,”Others not so much, but he’s one of the few things still keeping me here.” 

Bucky feels like he understands that all too well (even if he doesn’t completely remember it at the moment), as the two of you move forward to find a place to stay.

* * *

 

The two of you end up in a seedy hotel not that far from the bus station though a little farther down into the center of the city. The two of you are quick to learn each other’s sleeping habits, as neither of you takes the bed, with Bucky taking the mattress and placing it under the window and you taking the ugly  [ green wooden plush  ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/266275396699268402/?lp=true) chair, with your back sinking into with a slight flash of pain, on the other side of the room, though close to the door. Blue eyes stay on you for the rest of the night, as in your fits of pain and fear of dreaming, the two of you end up taking makeshift hours of watching over what might be after you still. It’s a restless sort of sleep, but not as taxing as it usually might be. After a quick shower with whatever spare clothes you have (Bucky can’t help but notice the discolored skin that shows just a little beyond the right sleeve of your shirt before you put on your sweater), you head towards the center of the city, though Bucky and you don’t talk -- a silence that is accepted, but is comfortable in all its strangeness due to someone simply having your back.      

You eat with what little money you have left and as the crowd becomes denser, Bucky gets closer to you. However, you both stop at the sight of a large white palace. Bucky turns to look at you before motioning with his head for you to move forward. You raise an eyebrow, but follow him either way. 

_Why the_ _Palace of Fine Arts?_

Though you were aware that the Bucky Barnes from the 1930’s had gone to an art school, that had always seemed like something Steve Rogers related. Sgt. Barnes was known for his mathematical genius when it came to snipping and gun tinkering, and known to be one of the best during the war effort. The Palace was full of art dating as back as the 15th century, so you wondered as you walked through the large white halls, as to who he was looking for the art student Bucky Barnes or the  **Sergeant** ? Hell maybe, he was even looking for some version of Steve Rogers. 

You cross the halls in silence, taking in all the old art like you used back in New York and then D.C when you were working on your degrees because the silence of such places usually calmed down the voices in your head, though you often felt the judgement of the more religious themed paintings, wondering if you were in the right to stand before them after all you had done in the name of war, in the name of country. Like now, standing in front of the painting by the  [ Group of the Embroidered Foliage ](http://www.pba-lille.fr/en/Collections/Highlights/Middle-Ages-Renaissance/Triptych-of-the-Virgin-with-Child-surrounded-by-musician-angels) was a little daunting, though you had never grown up within a religion, unlike someone back in the 1930’s. 

“Do you think,” Bucky’s soft voice echoes loudly in the empty space between the two of you. You turn to look at him, wondering if this is the first time he was voicing his thought to another human being in decades, “they can forgive?” 

You look at  [ the old painting ](http://www.pba-lille.fr/en/Collections/Highlights/16th-20th-century-Paintings/Vanity) he seems fascinated with, as the angel seems unconcerned for who it takes and maybe it just takes the same ideology with the rest of the world as well, not that you really knew if Angeles existed -- though it seemed more possible knowing the kind of world you lived full of magic, gods, and 100-year-old ghosts.  

“Maybe,” you start off while moving a little closer, unaware that he is clinging to your every word, “You have to learn to forgive yourself first.” 

Bucky doesn’t ask anything after that and you head back to the hotel after picking up some supplies, you wonder if that’s something you’ll be able to do one day as well, but for now -- it was an unreachable dream. 

The two of you stay in Lille for another night before moving forward in the early morning. A map you had with you in his hands as you use the public transport system to move out of the city before stealing a car in the outskirts. He doesn’t talk to you at all, but he doesn’t exactly let you leave either as he keeps his blue eyes on you and the road, probably analyzing the situation, though you know in your heart of hearts that you aren’t running away -- you don’t have anywhere to go. You’re not as good as him, but you get see his notes and the markings on the map when you can --  _ Normandy  _ and the names of the rest, of the deceased, Howling Commandos. 

It’s takes you an hour into the journey and a ton of courage to break the silence to finally ask. 

“Why are you trying to head to Normandy?” you question, as Bucky finally manages to get the second car started after the first ran out of gas, as the two of you pull into the driver and front passenger seats. You stare out of the window for a moment, the sky is clear with the changes of summer slowly making it into fall.  

“I…” Bucky stops nervously, trying to gather his thoughts the best he can, taking off  his hat and running a hand through his long hair, “I wanna see where they said the war ended.” 

“Oh,” is all you can really say, you stare out the window with the pain of your back a little more subdued than before. You sigh, deciding that this is going to a long drive but unwilling to go to sleep as blue eyes give you a glance, though unsure of what the next step is.

“Why...did you take this assignment?” Bucky finally manages to find his voice to ask the question that has been bothering him since he meet you back in Belgium, as your head shoots up to look at him. There is a curious look in his eyes, as you groan, unsure of what you are going to be able to tell him without lying but also without embarrassing yourself.    

This was going to be a long car ride after all. 


	5. the steps towards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, i hope i did this [beautiful place](http://fondation-monet.com/en/giverny-2/the-water-garden/) some justice.

Bucky watches as you try your best to fix the car from the darker side of the road. It was the 3rd one you had gotten since the two of you had started driving on this strange journey. The previous car had run out of gas, but this one was more of technical issue and while Bucky didn’t know his way around a car, you did and with the right instruments in the back trunk, you tried your best to fix it. Since setting off from Lille, the two of you had been coursing the roads around the national forests, staying in between the coast and the outskirts of Paris if need be ever possessed you to go into them. And while Bucky had his guard up at times, he found himself getting protective over your well-being as well. 

_ Keep your back to mine.  _

It was something he found himself saying more often now, whether sleeping in the car or walking in a small town -- though it was a bit harder during those times, much to his frustration and your laughter. The former Winter Soldier knew he shouldn’t be getting so attached to one person, someone whose motives he was still suspicious of, but he knew deep down that you were completely honest with him. And that while, it wasn’t the same --it would never be the same-- you were haunted in some familiar way and he latched onto that part of you like a madman that had been cut off from the rest of the world. Maybe, it was those 70 years of loneliness and desperation finally starting to kick in. He didn’t need much sleep, but when he did get it --your back to his-- it’s dreamless and steady, something he is very grateful for. 

Blue eyes scan the area once more, as he hears you yelp before the sound of the car starts once more, “I fixed it!”

He sees you waving at him, tired eyes but with a bright smile and while Bucky doesn’t know if he deserves it -- he is more than grateful that somehow you still manage to give it away so easy in his direction. 

* * *

It’s easier to drive through the old roads at night, nobody to be worried about but there is also the lingering fear of getting lost, of meeting something that you shouldn’t. You are fully aware that Bucky Barnes could have been in Normandy a few days back, especially when it's only a 4-hour drive but you don’t let him -- making sure that the two of you take breaks and rest when the car becomes too small for the two of you. Taking the time to rest and eat are things that took you a long time to remember, much less enjoy, so you could only wonder how often is happened to him, though you had grown slightly of aware of those glassy eyes and stiffened back that indicated he was going somewhere else -- that he needed to be reminded that he was human, that he was Bucky Barnes and not what HYDRA had made him.     

That is what causes you to stop in Giverny in the middle of the night. 

Normandy is still two hours away, but you don’t think that neither of you are ready for that as you stop the car near a small hotel. Blue eyes look at you, already at the point of near non-communication on his part, but the dangerous glint not quite there yet -- you had faced the nightmare scarred version of Bucky only once since this trip had started, but you knew it was better not to let it happen again.  

“It’s best to get some sleep, no?” you question. You always ask with him because you weren’t going to let him question his own free will, not when he fought so long and hard for it. His blue eyes blurry for a moment, crystal clear a second later as he nods and you both get out of the car. 

The woman upfront gives you a questionable look as you try best to carry, you completely sure, a 220+ pound man and your two backpacks into the the small inn, but you are good at playing at angry wife of a tourist who is enjoying France just a little too much, as she gives you a weary smile over your half-put together French. They give you a cheap room near the back, just in case the drunkard wants to make in any noise, as you try your hardest to place him on the bed without breaking it. 

“Do you need anything?” you look at the man struggling with sleep and the fear he has of waking up as something else, of something else being there as he slowly nods.

“Back,” is all he manages to say, as you nod before going around and taking off the jacket you are wearing. You move your right shoulder, one and then twice. The pain had been unbearable up to now without medicine but you were used to keeping quiet about it. The short-sleeved exposed more than you would like, as you glance at the dead skin that crisscrossed like spider webs into the shirt where an even bigger mess of tissue and nerves lay. Bucky groans as he moves, taking you out of your thoughts, as you you get dragged back to reality and take the other side of the bed.

_ Keep your back to mine. _

You close your eyes without another word said between the two of you (too caught up in your own respective hellscapes of the past), though if only the other knew that they were keeping the monsters at bay for the night.

* * *

 

Your bodies are still too winded up for a complete night’s sleep, as you end up waking up at 5am to see that  Bucky has been awake longer than you with his back on the headboard as he stares at the room before glancing at you. You follow his actions before stretching slightly, as you back pops. 

“Everything okay?” you question as Bucky nods, blue eyes glancing at the door out of habit, “Are you hungry?” 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, as you nod and get up. You can tell something is wrong with the bigger bags around his eyes and the cold sweat he can’t seem to get rid of, but you decide not to say anything -- you weren’t sure how he was going to handle it if you brought it up, so you decide to go about it a different way.

“Have you ever heard of Charles Monet?” you question, though already knowing the answer. 

“Yeah, Steve--” Bucky starts and stops at the thought, a quick memory, that pops into his head that leads him to complete silence before getting up and rummaging through his backpack, taking out one of his many notebooks that you had seen more times than you could count. However, you knew what he was trying to say -- Steve Rogers was an avid Monet fan when he was young with some of his art school drawings that had survived being inspired by the French artist. 

“Monet used to live in the area, if you wanna stay and see it,” you explain as he starts scribbling down and you can’t help but smile just a bit. Blue eyes glance up, no longer glassy or distant, as he nods. He wants to say something, make sure you’re prepared for going outside but you just wave a small hunting knife before hiding it back into the sleeve of your jacket.

He blinks and you’re out the door.    

* * *

 

Monet’s Home is a walk away after the two of you eat the bear minimum for breakfast, though you manage to dress up in slightly better clothing than the dirty ones you have been wearing for the past 3-4 days now. The anticipation of where you are going brings the two of you into complete silence as you reach your destination -- you because of nerves and Bucky, well you couldn’t answer that. Since its early morning and in one of the less tourist filled months, the line isn’t that long of a wait, though you are more speechless of the sight hundreds of flowers at the front of the home. While, Bucky is looking around for security, you’re looking around due to nostalgia -- it looks like a long forgotten dream. 

“It’s a stupid thought, but this sort of reminds of  _ Gone with the Wild _ ,” you mention while staring at the pink building, as Bucky gives you a curious look and you are unsure if he has seen or even had the time to catch up on all the cinema he had missed over the years. Nevertheless, you continue with your train of thought. 

“Everett dated a gal back in the Air Force that was obsessed with the movie,” you explain, expression lighting up at the memory and Bucky can’t help but keep staring, “She saw how he lived back in Texas and she thought they were meant to be! She would have him call her  _ Scarlet  _ and she would call him  _ Rhett _ and god, when I heard that I was howlin’ for days. I still call him that from time to time.” 

You laugh a little more, as tears form in the corners of your eyes. Bucky’s hands twitch in a long forgotten way but he does nothing about it, keeping those phantom urges at bay -- he isn’t that person anymore, so he asks instead.

“Is he the one?” he implies about your scars, as the two of you move forward within the line. You lose your laugh and Bucky immediately regrets asking.

“Yeah,” is all you say with a bitter smile.

* * *

 

Once the two of you enter the home, you try your hardest not to get lost in the colors of it all. It pops with artistic values but there are still homely touches here and there, though you and Bucky only walk into a room or two due to the crowds and just how you two feel about them. You walk into a blue kitchen and pause for moment, taking in how the artist must taken his meals here once -- maybe, he even had family and friends over. Things you weren’t sure if you deserved or even wanted anymore. You glance around to see Bucky starting outside the large opening, morning sun hitting his face in just a certain way that you would think he was part of the painter’s landscape. An old and familiar feeling bubbles up as you take in the sight before someone else steps into the room, the brunette motions for you to follow him outside. 

And so, you walk -- walking and taking in all the flowers and sun that you didn’t deserve, you didn’t deserve peace after all the war you had fought. You wondered if Bucky thought the same thing or if he was looking for Steve Rogers (maybe even his old self) among the flowers and painted walls. You keep walking until you reach that famous green bridge. One heavy step on it and Bucky Barnes seems ready to talk about something. 

“You didn’t answer the question back in the car,” he says, finally letting go what had been on his mind for quite some time, though you had a good excuse since the road had been closed and you spent hours looking for a way around -- that need overriding everything else. 

“And you’ve been waiting for my answer,” you add, as he nods. You can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive, but you want to be honest with the man, he deserves that much. 

His silence is the only answer you receive, as you stare at the murky water underneath the bridge. 

“Why did I take this mission?” you murmur repeating the question he had asked from a few days back. You stare up at the sky and wonder for a moment.

You knew a simple answer -- it was your job, it was the type of things you did for Ross. A sort of twisted Indiana Jones, if you thought about it long enough. The deep answer was that it was your interest. You had engraved the entirety of James Buchanan Barnes’ life on to your skin since you were a little girl. His good looks had given you dreamy sigh once, but his heroism has taught you to never give up -- though the orphanage, through the Air Force, and maybe even now. You look to see blue eyes staring at you, but this wasn’t exactly the same Bucky Barnes anymore, and maybe just this once you were needed too. 

“I g-rew up an orphan really young,” you explain, rubbing your palms together, “I listened to all those old combat stories about Captain America and the Howling Commandos growing up because of the people who ran the orphanage. They kept me sane back then and they kept me sane when I came back from Bosnia.”

“I’m--” he tries to interject, but the look in your eyes tells him you’re not done talking.

“People don’t even come back from war the same, Bucky. I know that, you know that. And whatever gulit you feel over the things you have done might not either, it might not ever get easy. But there are people who will be grateful that you are here, be grateful to hear your story. Sure, you’ve done bad, but you’ve done a lot a good too. I think I’m just here to remind you of that, even if it’s through an unorthodox way.”

You let out a nervous laugh unsure if you got the correct point across, “I’m not sure I answered the question correctly.”

“No, no. You did,” Bucky say softly. 

“Ah, good then,” you settle with that answer for the moment, as you lean into the railing of the bridge. You watch the water move, as Bucky mulls over something for a moment.  

“Do you think--” his voice breaks near the end of the question, though maybe due to your own past or because you have been spending some time with him, but you understand what Bucky is trying to ask.  _ Do you think I still need to be that person? _

“I think from personal experience,” you explain with a cheeky afterthought, “Dying once just means you can come back as whoever you wanna be.”

You try to make a little joke but freeze when he looks at you with that serious gaze. However, it only takes him a moment to break it as he lets out a rough sounding chuckle as he moves forward to stare at the water, as you look up at the flowers up ahead. You aren’t sure what is going to happen after this or just how much of your word Bucky is actually going to take to heart, but underneath the morning sun you feel something within you start to bloom -- as if something was finally starting to tell you to move on. You smile gently and lean in just a little more to Bucky’s right side. Blue eyes widen, but he lets you have this for now. 

It’s about time you (and though it would take him a bit longer) realize that you really didn’t need saving, just to take it slow and relearn 0nce more. 

But for now, Normandy is waiting.     


	6. the end and the beginning are the same.

The way to Normandy is quite. 

Something had gone off in Bucky’s head after your talk in Monet’s House and he wanted to head to the coastal area the next morning. So here you were, driving since mid-morning and close to reaching your destination, though that just lead to a heavier silence in the car with Bucky staying silent as if taking everything in his own way. You wondering where his destination was since there were a lot of locations that were important to D-Day and similarly various museums dedicated to the event. As you get closer to the coast, Bucky finally tells you to stop the car. 

“Here?” you question, as all Bucky does is nod before getting out of the car. You take a bit longer making sure everything is in order, but Bucky walks like a man possessed, or more like haunted at he hits on the first of many museums near the iconic beach. 

He goes through all of them, reading and glancing at every single detail that he sees, trying his hardest to etch it to memory --  to understand a time where there war wasn’t raging, though he had been left behind. You look on here and there, learning things that even you didn’t know as you see from time to time blue eyes turn hazy as if lost in the thought or memory of something else. Bucky reads everything that he can, though it is a bit harder for him to be around the tanks on display. You spent most of the afternoon like this, only grabbing a small lunch from one of the side shops, as you find yourself at the tip of the coastline as you finish going through the last museum.

You take a deep breath of the ocean air, as Bucky walks forward into the sandy part of the beach. You look on with your hands in your pockets as Bucky takes off his cap and runs a hand through his long hair.     

“How much do you know about the war ending?” you quirk an eyebrow at his question since you had just gone through all the information about the war ending from this standpoint, since you learned that there were always different versions of how people perceived the truth to be.

“A little here and there,” you say in a small lie while rolling your right shoulder, not entirely sure how he would handle just how much information you did know about a lot of things when it came to WWII, especially since he was a bit apprehensive after you had told him about your admiration towards him and the Howling Commandos. 

“Are they all?” he questions after sometime, crouching onto the sand. He grabs some with his gloved hands, you watch from a little ways back. It takes you awhile to figure out who he is talking about until you finally put two and two together.  Bucky doesn’t say anything as you call off their names and dates. 

“It sounds like they all had good lives,” Bucky manages to say after you finish, though the quick sorrow in his tone that you hear for a split second makes you wonder if he is mourning them or himself and all the years he had lost, maybe it was little bit of both. You stay silent and stand in remembrance to all the Bucky might be thinking about in that moment. 

The two of you stay on that beach, watching the waves move back and forth, for a very long time.

* * *

 

“Where are you going after this?” he asks, in the dead of night, halfway out of France. Blue eyes shining in the darkness, as he looks up from his journaling -- he had been at it for awhile now. 

You turn to look at him for a good while before shrugging, truly unsure of what you are going to next. It seemed like this was the closing chapter to something, you just didn’t know what came next. It wasn’t like Ross seemed very keen on finding you at the moment, you knew that he would find and drag you out of whatever hole you were hiding in if he really wanted to. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, as you play with the knife you always keep in your body with an uneasy feeling growing in your chest. You still found it hard to read him most of the time. You don’t dare look up as he keeps talking.

“You could--” your eyes flicker up for just a moment, to see him still journaling but he doesn’t go beyond that. 

“Yeah,” is all you say on the matter before going back to what you were doing, unaware of a small smile on his lips.

* * *

 

Italy is a completely different story from France, but it is also a blur. 

It’s hiding in empty apartment buildings you make your way east.  It’s looking though museums and old newspaper clippings of what the war used to be like and how it is now, both of you learning about what you had missed out on due to your hazy daydreams, though it’s more getting used to for Bucky with 70+ missing years.  

It’s falling asleep late and waking up just a bit too early because of nightmares and aching phantom pain. It’s coming to understand who Steve Rogers is from a level that isn’t Captain America in the history books, and leaning all of the current events that always seem connected to war -- that war never changes, just it’s means and motives as you compare yours and Bucky’s times. 

It’s keep  _ your back next to mine  _ turning into tangled limbs that keep the the fears and demons away, until it stops being a valid excuse. 

You could consider this the happiest you had felt in a long time, but you should have also realized that you have never really been lucky. 

All of this has to come to an end. 

* * *

 

It’s when you’re between Italy and Slovenia, in a dump of a little town, when finally happens. You haven’t been sleeping as well as you had been before entering the tiny country, as you can feel that someone has been following you during your trips to the marketplace for the past two days. You stay as calm as you can on the 6th day, but by the time you are leaving the populated area, you can see the men dressed in regular clothing and others in the shadows following you. And even though you have a couple of knives on your body, you aren’t too sure how your body, a few years without fighting and your right shoulder, could handle all of them. 

So, following the plan you had memorized due Bucky, you go to where he usually is -- a bookstore and head inside. Blue eyes find yours and he already knows, as he motions (his backpack strapped on tightly, as you remember you left everything that sort of belonged to you back in the apartment) you to follow him to the back where he simply greets the bookstore keeper with a nod, as the bespectacled man gives him a small smile while looking at the both of you move towards the metal room -- a large hole in the middle as Bucky opens it and before diving in.

The two of you move as quickly as you can in the underground sewer system, Bucky keeps you as close as possible as you walk through muddy the water until you hit a split. It’s then the both of you hear the sound of several footsteps heading in your direction.  

“Bucky,” you call out softly, as he grabs both sides of your face. You already know what he is going to tell you to do, it had always been part of the plan -- you were never going to be together for long. Gloved hands caress your cheeks, as you stare at resolute blue eyes. 

“You gotta go,” he states in a tone that leaves no room for argument. You can hear the footsteps coming up faster and faster, you grip his hands one last time before letting go completely. The darkness welcoming him back, as you lose sight of him in the other tunnel. 

You run and run along the entirely of the tunnel until you see a bright light. You take take a deep breathe and keep running until you’re out of the town. You’re gasping for breath and your right shoulder hurts  like hell, as you take to run towards the darker side of road until you see a black car in front of you and your blood freezes. You stand still, wet and cold, as the door suddenly opens as you steady yourself -- for what, you aren’t exactly sure. You glance down at your boots and hope for quick second the Bucky is going to be okay -- that he keeps moving forward.

“Miss,” you look up to see a blond woman come out of the black car, as you freeze ready to fight if need be until you hear her next words, “Agent Ross has been looking for you.” 

You let out a choked sob at the sound of that all too familiar name before falling to ground in exhaustion.

You were going home, though it certainly didn’t fit that name as surely as it once had. No, you were sure home was a person now, who you only hoped was very far away from here at time point. 


	7. epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s where the story ends! thank you for taking the time to read this and i hope you enjoyed their journey.

****_ Sometimes, I think it was all a dream, Steve. She’s too vivid not to be real. But, sometimes...I think my mind was playing tricks on me.  _

Steve has heard this a hundred times before since Bucky had gone through his treatment in Wakanda, since they had come back to New York. While, the words that HYDRA had implanted within him no longer worked, Bucky still questioned a lot of his memories and the things he had done as the Winter Soldier, though he remembered it all. However, there was something more recently that he had questioned -- a woman that seemed to have traveled with him for a short while. 

Bucky Barnes questioned whether he had actually known this woman or whether she was just a figment of his imagination -- something to stave of the loneliness he had known for more than 70 years. Some days, he welcomed her with open arms and told Steve or Sam about something that they had done together -- traveled through France, gone to Monet’s House, to the beaches of Normandy. Bucky talked with a softness in his voice that Steve had never heard before. 

Other days he cursed her name, cried and yelled her out for leaving him alone -- for making him feel something that he had no right to, especially for something imaginary. 

However, both Steve and Sam knew that she was real -- that she was one of the ways that they had found him in Romania when everything went to hell. And while Steve knows that Bucky isn’t a child, he is still protective of his best friend once he realizes who she is connected to --Everett Ross. The memories of the Accords and what that man had done to all of them still stung too deeply and even though things had been soothed between both the Avengers and the US Government -- Steve wasn’t willing to take that chance just yet. 

Steve Rogers just didn’t expect for Everett Ross to make the first move before him.

“Steve,” Sam calls out to him, after looking through the newest missions that had been handed to them by the UN, “There’s something here personally for you.” 

“What?” Steve can’t help but look over the couch, Bucky flickering a glance from his personal Stark Pad. Since coming back to the States and since he wasn’t an active Avenger, Bucky Barnes often spent his time learning and researching everything he had missed out on. Yes, he had learned some things from his time on the run, but his current lifestyle gave him more lesure.

“An invitation from Ross,” Sam states, a tone of confusion to his face, as Steve gets up and grabs the letter from Sam’s hand. Bucky’s back stiffens like a coil for a moment since he doesn’t have a good memory of either Ross, though  _ Rhett  _ and a giggle make him soften after a couple of minutes. 

“What is it, Steve?” Bucky can’t help, but ask after the thought --or memory-- he isn’t quite sure. As Steve sighs before showing it to him, Steve knew he couldn’t hide it forever. 

“An invitation,” Steve states simply, as he places the tickets and letter on the countertop.

_ THE LIVES AND AFTERMATH OF THE HOWLING COMMANDOS ON PRESENT DAY UNITED STATES. _

* * *

You don’t talk to Everett in the aftermath of his unit finding you in Slovenia. He knows where you had been and with who, but at the sight of you crying and pleading, he asks nothing of the subject or what had happened to you since arriving in Antwerp, which seems like a lifetime ago. Something in his eyes tells you that he regrets it -- you just aren’t sure what. Nevertheless, Ross keeps you safe -- this hopeless mission is never spoken of again and as he leaves you in New York, he promises that he’ll come visit you soon. 

He doesn’t, at least not for a long time as you struggle with work and everything that rattles in your head and the cold pain of your right shoulder, but you’ll bounce back -- you always do. 

However, that doesn’t stop the nightmares and guilt from eating at your very core. It doesn’t stop the nightmares from coming back every night. It also doesn’t help that  _ Secretary _ Ross suddenly seems interested in you as well, so you run away -- heading to the West Coast before moving into Canada for a good long while, though still working with American museums here and there when you can.  

You are helpless during the Accords and still have no way of contacting Everett, though you’re siding with Captain America more than anyone else, but this isn’t your fight -- you know that well enough. 

Ross doesn’t contact until your newest exhibit in New York is about to open. Bright eyes reminding you of the old Air Force Tech Sergeant  you used to know with that pretty blond woman --Sharon Carter, if you remember correctly-- at his side, and in that moment you know that something has changed within Everett Ross. He has a new lease on life, though he doesn’t tell you why. You think it has something to do with his time in Wakanda since he was seen more with King T’Challa since the announcement at the UN had been made.

“You should come back home,” he states as you give him a confused look, like he has forgotten the past couple of years, “With the acquittal of Barnes, they won’t come after you. I’ve made sure of it.” 

“I believe that’s what you said last time,” you explain, looking outside and into the streets of Toronto, only to hear him sigh, “And then I had government agents at my apartment asking what I had done in France.” 

“All papers in regards to you have been destroyed,” Everett remarks with an exasperated voice, as Sharon smiles -- never seeing this side of him before, “Mistakes were made, but I am trying to redeem them now, I swear.”

You look at him and then at Sharon before placing your folded hands on top of the table: “Ms. Carter, do you stand as witness to  _ my dear friend’s _ remarks?”

Sharon laughs as Ross groans, while she gives you her answer, “I don’t know what happened in Wakanda, but he is trying his hardest to make amends, even with Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, in his own way.” 

You frown for a moment at the sound of that familiar name, though only Ross seems to notice. He knows that he has no right to ask and while he probably never say it outloud, he knows he owes a great deal of gratitude towards the man for whatever he had done for you -- whatever he instilled in you to keep on living. You let out a dramatic sigh.

“I’ll think about it, especially since they want me in New York for the opening night,” you explain with shrug as Ross gives you a smile , while you keep on talking to Sharon about everything she had done and how exactly she is connected to Everett Ross, much to his annoyance. 

Oh, but if only you knew what he had planned -- to make due somewhat on all of the things he owed you.

* * *

 

The Museum of the City of New York wouldn’t be considered one of the most glamorous museums within the city, but it was filled with a lot of information on and about New York and some of its most important inhabitants, that was some of the reasons why it was one of Bucky’s favorite parts to go and see when he wanted to know just a little bit more on the decades that had passed him by within his old running ground. However, tonight was different -- tonight, he was one of the subjects that was to be looked up to. 

The opening gala at the request of the curator had been for immediate family and invited individuals only. Steve and Bucky as the only surviving members of the said unit were a pretty big deal with all the other Avengers coming and Tony making sure that they were all dressed to the nines for said event. Bucky wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole thing, while he was curious to see about the others’ lives, he also didn’t feel like being an object on display -- he didn’t have to do that anymore. And while he had connected with some of his family from his sisters’ marriages, he still wasn’t ready for that. 

Bucky ducked for nearly the whole night, much to Nat’s and Sam’s disapproval, reading up on all his comrades and those he didn’t know after the fact. 

He reads up on how Dum-Dum became a novelist a la Hemingway. He reads up on how Gabe stayed in France after the world, as part of the growing group of American expats there. Morita went back home and fought for the rights of those like him that had fought in the war or had stayed in the internment camps, until his dying breath. Falsworth stayed in active service until he became Brigadier General and one of the foremost experts on WWII history, even teaching courses in Oxford. Dernier traveled most of his life, teaching others how to use bombs and when the time came -- how to disarm them as well until he disappeared to god knows where.  

Bucky reads up on those who took the mantle of the Howling Commandos after he and Steve “died” and how Peggy fought for the establishment of S.H.I.E.LD, though not much can be said of her time there.  He sees Steve haunted by his own information section with Sharon Carter not that far away. Then, he finally comes to his own --  _ James Buchanan Barnes  _ in script that reminds him of the Smithsonian exhibit, outside of things he remembers, everything in that section is a blur followed by an empty blank because unlike the rest of them -- Bucky’s story even after 100 years still isn’t over yet. 

“ _James Buchanan Barnes was acquitted of all charges against the United States in 2018_ ,” Bucky repeats to himself over and over again, like a prayer -- like this is something he doesn’t deserve as his eyes feel like they are burning as his vision gets blurry.

“100 years and what do I have to show do it?” he can’t help but murmur to himself because after everything is said and done he is still a broken man with nightmares of the people that he killed and while he is still alive and breathing, how could he ever surmise to his fellow comrades?    

“I think you standing here is a lot to show for,” a voice --one that he had only heard in his dreams-- speaks up from behind him. Bucky swears, hoping that this isn’t a fucking dream again. He turns around and sees a woman with noticeable changes to your appearance but the smile still the same as ever, “Being alive, being able to recover isn’t something to shortchange, Bucky.” 

“You’re..” Bucky can’t seem to keep going with his sentence, as he rushes over to you, while you welcome him with open arms, “Real! You’re really here.”

“Yeah, I am,” is all you can say, unsure of what he means by that though unwilling to ask for now, “And so are you, Buck. You should be so proud of that.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to your reassuring words, as he simply rests his head on your left shoulder, arms curling into the rest of your body like it was a missing puzzle piece to his own.  _ Keep your back to mine,  _ ringing loudly in your head, but taking a different meaning for the moment as you take in his appearance -- not as homeless looking as before, but still with his long hair and stubble that remind you of your time together. Bucky Barnes wasn’t the same person anymore though, but neither were you. 

“Did you like the exhibit?” you ask, trying to move from a lighter subject, “I worked my butt off, ya know?” 

Blue eyes look up, as you roll your right shoulder for a moment, before he asks: “You did all this?” 

“This is my day job,” you explain as he stands up to look around once more but with a different sense of everything he had seen due to knowing this was all your hard work and research, “ _ Most of the time _ .”

“Why did you?” Bucky asks, before stopping and staring at his own unfinished exhibit though you understand what he was asking. 

“Back in Normandy,” you start as you look straight into his bright blue eyes, “You asked what had happened to everyone, I felt like this was a mission for me afterwards. To show you --in some way-- what had happened to them...that they lived their lives to the fullest.” 

Bucky stays silent, as you take his hands from around your waist and had them tightly: “And that even after everything, you can live one too, like you’re doing so right now.” 

Bucky gives you a smile like he doesn’t believe your words, while you frown before huffing out a breath of air in annoyance. However, he can’t help but be mesmerized by the light that seems to shine from you, so different from the person he had meet all those years ago, though it is something that he would like to get to know better from now on.       

“I don’t--” 

“Those are the last words I wanna hear from your mouth, James Barnes,” you remark, pulling on his left hand with your right one as you drag him out of the exhibit and into one of the darker parts of the museum. He follows unsure but excited, as he sees your true personality blossom before him.

“Doll,” the word is unfamiliar to him as it tumbles out of his mouth, but it just feels right to call you that, “where are we going?” 

You turn back to him and give him an even bigger grin, as you can see Ross shaking his head from the corner of your eye before he walks away: “I’m gonna show the rest of the museum and then we’ll see where the rest of the night takes us. How about it?” 

Bucky hesitates only for a moment before grinning: “Anything you want.” 

“I’m gonna make you regret those words,” you say before laughing and disappearing into the hallways of the museum, just like you had once before.    

However, this time you were going to show him that he was worth more than old paintings and hollowed out stories, Bucky Barnes was worth everything and more -- and you were okay with spending the rest of your life showing him not to regret a single moment any longer -- and truth be told, he was okay for doing the same for you too.            

 

 


End file.
